


how do you like your blueeyed boy

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [57]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 19:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Rodney McKay, genius engineer, has been so focused on his dream of building The Atlantis, the fastest ether ship to ever exist, that he has not realized that one of his assistants, Evan, is not in fact human. He’s an automaton. And that changes everything.





	how do you like your blueeyed boy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Romancing SGA and the What If AU Challenge 22 Steampunk.

It took Rodney a while to realize there was something a little bit _off_ about Evan, his personal assistant on the _Atlantis_ project. The others laughed at him once he came to this realization, that Evan was not human, was in fact an automaton of incredible design and functionality, but in Rodney’s defense, Evan looked like an ordinary human. He had normal skin and hair and eyes. His voice sounded perfectly human. His chest even rose and fell, like he was breathing. He was handsome, yes, but so was John Monroe the future Captain of the Atlantis and famed Lunar diplomat Teyla Emmagan and tall, muscular Martian Marine Ronon Dex. Why should Evan’s bright blue eyes and dimpled smile be all that strange?

Yes, Evan could perform complex mathematical calculations in his head, but so could John, and Miko and Radek and Kavanagh, Rodney’s team of engineers (the fact that Evan was faster than Kavanagh didn’t really signify, since Kavanagh was on the team because his mother’s uncle knew someone in Sheppard Industries). Being exceptionally intelligent wasn’t a sign of being superhuman. Or subhuman, depending on how one looked at automatons, with their clockwork hearts and spinning gears and grinding metal joints. Evan’s joints never made grinding noises, because he seemed _perfectly human._

What finally made Rodney realize that Evan wasn’t human was his superhuman patience. Even Teyla and Elizabeth Weir, a famed Earth diplomat and Rodney’s liaison between Meredith Labs and Sheppard Industries, lost their patience with him. Usually their losing patience was no more than an arched eyebrow or an eyeroll or a sigh and a pointed comment (as opposed to Radek cursing at him in Czech and flinging spanners and screwdrivers), but they all lost patience with him eventually.

Not Evan, though.

Dave Sheppard liked to hang around the labs more than a coal mogul ought to, peering over Rodney’s shoulder and asking questions about how this gear worked and how much that hammer cost and would the _Atlantis_ perform as promised? Would she be ready to launch on time? He had investors who needed to know.

“Don’t you have a pile of money to swim in?” Rodney asked. He had his magnifying goggles on, doing his best to keep his hands steady while he soldered a tiny coil to a gear plate.

“I don’t swim in money,” Sheppard said peevishly. “I wisely invest and grow my assets, and if my investment in you has been misplaced -”

“It has not been misplaced, but if you continue to harangue me like a fishwife, your investment may yet fail if I cannot properly complete this component!”

Sheppard drew back, mouth agape. “Fishwife! How dare you!”

“Please, Mr. Sheppard,” Evan said, hurrying in from the workshop floor, “Dr. McKay is doing very delicate work. Our very voices could cause the pieces to be misaligned.” His own voice was soft, soothing, calm.

Evan put a hand on Sheppard’s arm, started to steer him toward the door.

“For all the stars in the firmament, Evan, why are you so spineless? The man is irritating and we all know it, and he knows he ought to spend his time elsewhere. Why do you coddle him so? One would almost think you _enjoy_ being trod on like a foyer carpet,” Rodney snapped.

Evan said, still perfectly calm, “My spine is perfectly functional, Dr. McKay.” To Sheppard he said, “Dr. Zelenka will deliver the daily report after close of business, as always.”

Sheppard, mollified, settled his top hat back on his head, fetched his coat and cane from the stand just beyond the office door, and stormed out of the workshop.

Rodney shoved his goggles up his forehead, twisted around to look at Evan. “You - I called you spineless. Even Teyla would have reproached me.”

Evan made sure Sheppard was actually gone before he turned and responded to Rodney. “As I said, my spine is perfectly functional. I have provided all the correction necessary.”

Rodney knew that literalness. Automatons weren’t quite capable of jokes or humor. He’d always assumed Evan’s deadpan literalness was a form of sarcasm, but - he _wasn’t human._ He rose, crossed the lab, dragged Evan closer to the gas lantern on his desk so he could really _look_ at him.

“You’re an automaton,” he said.

Evan cocked his head, puzzled. “Of course I am.”

Should an automaton be able to look puzzled?

“Where are you from?”

“As Captain Monroe stated when I was first delivered to you, the Sheppards released me from storage to assist you,” Evan said.

John was also known for his sarcasm and dry humor, and his _This is Evan, the Sheppards dug him out of storage for you_ had seemed like a joke.

Rodney reached out, cupped his hand along Evan’s jaw. His skin was soft, warm.

Had never been marred by whiskers, now that Rodney thought of it. Not even when he’d worked all night alongside Rodney (never flagging, never wanting to stop for food or drink or other human breaks, he now realized).

“You seem so human,” Rodney said. Something tightened in his chest, made it hard to breathe for a moment. He was attracted to Evan, had found himself drawn to the man’s bright smile and dry humor, which was apparently not intentional, and his usefulness and kindness, the way he was always bringing Rodney strong Turkish coffee and snacks.

“As I was designed,” Evan said.

It was John who poked his head out of the back of the office. “Is he finally gone?”

Rodney yelped and backpedaled away from Evan, hands raised in surrender.

John, dressed in flying leathers, his pistol strapped to his thigh, goggles perched jauntily on his wild dark hair, leaned against the desk, amused. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“Not at all,” Rodney said. “I was just - examining Evan. For evidence of his being an automaton.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You’re only just realizing that now?”

Rodney flushed. “He’s very convincing. As a human.”

“Not if you look beneath the surface,” John said, and suddenly Rodney wondered what Evan had beneath his clothes - clean white shirtsleeves, modestly-patterned waistcoat, fine wool trousers, polished black shoes.

John lifted his chin. “Evan, show Rodney your heart.”

Evan nodded and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, loosening his cravat.

“No! That’s not necessary.” Rodney reached out, stilled Evan’s hands.

His hands were warm. Alive.

Rodney snatched his hands back. He turned to John. “What are you doing, lurking in the back of the lab?”

John shrugged, his expression deliberately nonchalant. “Just waiting till Dave Sheppard left.”

There was something odd going on between John and Sheppard that John refused to talk about. He simply avoided Sheppard at all costs. Part of his agreeing to be the test pilot for the _Atlantis_ was that he have no contact with Sheppard and that Sheppard not be provided his name, though John’s professional pedigree was enough for Sheppard to agree to hire him as a test pilot. John was an ether catamaran racer, and he had accrued enough winners’ wreaths to make a topiary maze. He’d also been trained in Her Majesty’s Royal Air Corps and had captained larger craft, including those comparable in size to the proposed dimensions for the _Atlantis_. There was no better qualified pilot.

No one knew why John disliked Sheppard so. Speculation ran rampant in the lab. The top three possibilities were that John had tumbled Sheppard’s wife, that John had once beat Sheppard in an ether catamaran race, or that John and Sheppard were ex-lovers.

John was handsome, with green eyes and narrow, neat features, a disarmingly lazy smile, and Rodney might have considered him as a lover, but tumbling one’s teammates was a poor choice.

Evan said, “Mr. Sheppard is gone now. You can depart in peace.”

John winked at him. “Thanks. You two be good. Don’t go getting any fluff in his gears.” He wagged a finger at Rodney, who made an indignant sound, and sailed out of the lab and onto the workshop floor, calling greetings to the other engineers as he went.

Evan said to Rodney, “Do you wish to see my heart?” His fingers were at the knot of his cravat.

“No,” Rodney said. “I believe you. You’re an automaton. Just - continue your work.”

Evan nodded. “Of course.”

Rodney went back to his workbench, tugged his goggles on, and picked up his soldering iron.

Evan was an automaton. That was fine. Perfectly fine. Didn’t matter to Rodney one bit.

*

At mid-morning, Evan brought Rodney a tray with hot coffee and some small fruit tarts (non-citrus, as always).

“Do you need any assistance?” Evan inquired while he put two sugars and a dash of cream into Rodney’s coffee.

“No,” Rodney said absently, rotating his wrist. “I’m almost finished with this piece.”

Evan said, “Does your wrist pain you?”

“A bit.”

Evan reached out, took Rodney’s wrist in his, and dug his thumbs in carefully, massaging. The pain and tension in Rodney’s wrist, that radiated into his hand and up into his elbow, immediately eased.

“Is that better?”

“Yes,” Rodney said, utterly shocked, because no one ever touched him. Touching was for friends and family and lovers, not colleagues.

But touching signified nothing between Evan and Rodney, because Evan wasn’t human.

Right?

Only Evan’s hands felt like real hands, like human hands, like skin and muscle and tendons and a skeleton beneath. His touch was perfectly ordinary in its sensation, but extraordinary for the mere fact of him touching Rodney.

Evan kept massaging till the pain was completely gone, and then he released Rodney’s wrist. “I’ll make sure you have your dinner on time.” He smiled and then drifted back out to the workshop.

Miko said, “Evan, come calculate this for me?”

Evan said, “Of course.”

Rodney stared at his wrist, felt the ghost of Evan’s warm and gentle touch, and told himself it meant nothing. Really, it didn’t.

When it was time for dinner at midday, Rodney headed out to to the workshop and handed over the latest component to Radek and Miko for addition to the wing components. Rodney’s new design was based on principles he’d learned from Teyla and Ronon and the compound bows they used in their alien hunts. It would allow the wings of the _Atlantis_ to pump three times faster and quieter than any currently on the market or available to the military, but the flying action would only require a third of the energy.

“How is it looking?” Rodney asked.

“Good, good,” Radek said. He had one of his messenger pigeons perched on his shoulder.

If those vermin weren’t so useful for carrying messages to Samantha Carter, Rodney’s chief collaborator at Abydos Labs, Rodney would have had them all shot and fed to Sheppard’s dogs.

Evan fetched dinner for all of them, steaming meat pies and some ale, a nod to midday. He arranged a table and plates and cutlery. Rodney always assumed Evan never ate with them because he ate at the bakery where he always fetched their food from, but today there were extra servings.

“Are you eating with us?” Rodney asked.

Evan said, “Automatons don’t consume food.”

Radek and Miko laughed, slapped Evan on the back like he’d made a joke.

Kavanagh just grunted and dug into his food, avoiding all of their gazes.

Teyla, Elizabeth, and Ronon chose to dine with them that day, and Evan served them as well.

“Ronon,” Radek said, “Rodney asked Evan if he was going to dine with us.”

Ronon, who’d always been polite if brief with Evan (he was really like that with everyone), said, “Automatons don’t eat.”

Teyla said, “For once, Rodney was kind enough to think of Evan’s comfort, and he should be commended.”

“Although I’d be a bit alarmed about Rodney’s people skills, if he thought Evan was human.” Radek waggled his eyebrows at Miko.

Evan said, “I seem so human.”

“Well, the Sheppards paid top coin for you, so I’m not surprised,” Elizabeth said. But she smiled at him and said, “Thank you, Evan,” when he refilled her delicate glass of wine.

Rodney said, “I’m surrounded by geniuses and misfits. Plenty of people think us abnormal. Why should I think Evan was any less than human?”

Ronon raised his eyebrows. “So you really thought he was human?”

“Captain Monroe said I should show Dr. McKay my heart,” Evan said.

“Not helping,” Rodney hissed. He met Ronon’s gaze. “I’m sure plenty of people on the street don’t look twice at Evan or think he’s anything but human.”

“Plenty of people don’t work with him all day,” Miko pointed out.

Kavanagh, looking gleefully delighted, opened his mouth to weigh in, but Teyla said,

“It is a compliment, to Evan’s creators, that he is so human-seeming.”

She was ever the diplomat. Talk turned, as always, to the _Atlantis_ herself. Miko was in charge of designing the ether sail generators. She had been raised on a star-diving crew in Japan, knew their silk sails inside and out, and she had a plan to design a weave of ether strands that mimicked silk rather than canvas, because silk was stronger and more flexible but still lighter, and her design would again be more energy-efficient than anything on the market.

Plenty of other scientists had turned up their noses at the notion of working with a foreigner or aliens, but Rodney had taken on Miko, Teyla, and Ronon, in addition to Radek and Kavanagh. Samantha Carter had taken on Teal’c of Chulak, Jonas Quinn, and Vala Mal Doran, and their labs were the best in the city.

Kavanagh and Radek were supposed to be helping Rodney fine-tune a more efficient power generator - they had access to an endless supply of coal from Sheppard’s global network of mines for experimenting - but really Radek was doing all the work on the power generator and Kavanagh was working on assembling some of the wing components.

Rodney had never dreamed of flying himself, but he had dreamed of going to places like the Moon and Mars and Chulak and Kelowna and all the planets Vala had seen. Unfortunately, journeys like that were costly and time-consuming, and so the only solution had been to create more efficient flying ships. Rodney had been studying ether sailers since he was a child, knew every model inside and out, and he knew his design was the answer.

So Teyla could go home easily and see her family. So Ronon could continue his journeys.

Rodney knew he was no fine speaker, had no finesse with words, but he’d pitched his proposal to anyone who’d listen, eventually resorting to a soapbox on a street corner. Somehow he’d caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she’d spoken to Dave Sheppard, and now construction of the _Atlantis_ was finally underway.

For months, Rodney had had to put up with bumbling construction oafs making the hull and decks of the ship, but finally they were gone. Now it was up to Rodney and his team to build Atlantis’s heart and soul: her engine and wings and sails.

Was that why Sheppard had sent Evan? Because he was an automaton who seemed to have a heart and soul?

Rodney glanced over his shoulder and saw Evan with one of Radek’s pigeons resting on his wrist while he stroked its crest and crooned at it gently, eyes sparkling.

No. He was thinking madness. Machines had neither hearts no souls. Just gears and parts.

After the meal, Evan cleared away the dishes and ferried them back to the bakery, and the others returned to their work.

It was Elizabeth who followed Rodney back to the lab.

“Dr. McKay,” she said, keeping her voice low, “I don’t wish to alarm you, but - how far is the _Atlantis_ from completion?”

“Surely you’ve seen Radek’s progress reports.”

“But are those reports based on you continuing at the current pace or are they generous estimates so you exceed expectations?”

Rodney cast her a sidelong glance. “Say what you mean.”

“Teyla would never mention this, though no doubt she is aware - there are complications, on the Moon, between her people and some of the other star-faring peoples. Teyla needs to return to the Moon as soon as possible, but she lacks the wherewithal to do so. Were the _Atlantis_ to be ready within the next few weeks, that would greatly ease some of the political tensions hereabouts.”

“Why would there be political tensions hereabouts,” Rodney asked, “if it doesn’t involve Earth?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment. Finally she said, “Earth has alliances with several of the star-faring peoples. If things turn out well for Teyla’s people, then she need not return. If things do not fare well for her people, she may soon be unable to return at all.”

“Because Earth will forbid it?”

“Because she will have nothing to return to.”

Rodney rocked back on his heels.

Elizabeth caught his gaze for a moment, held it. “I take it you understand my meaning.”

“Of course,” Rodney said.

“Then please, work as fast as you can,” Elizabeth said. She added, louder, “Good luck, Rodney. Good day.” And she swept out of the lab.

Rodney listened to the speedy clip of her shoes as she headed for the main door, heard Teyla’s laughter echoing off the stone floors and bare walls as Miko and Radek cracked a joke. Teyla was one of the leaders of the Lunar Athosians. She had a husband and child back on the Moon.

“Faster,” Rodney said to himself. “I can work faster.”

*

There was no good way to ask Radek, Miko, and Kavanagh to put in overtime without telling them about Teyla’s predicament. Given that Elizabeth had kept her voice low and her words oblique even in the cramped confines of the wooden shack in the corner of the hangar that served as Rodney’s lab, Teyla’s predicament wasn’t something Rodney could just go bandying about as freely as the stories in the penny dreadfuls.

Evan, on the other hand, had no qualms about working overtime. Because he didn’t sleep.

He even helped Rodney arrange a sleeping pallet in the back corner of the lab where no one else went.

That first night, long after the others had gone, Evan knelt beside Rodney’s pallet, candlestick in hand, his face solemn in the flickering golden glow.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

Rodney nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve bunked in worse places.”

“I’ll continue working on the wing assembly.” Evan reached out, smoothed a hand over Rodney’s hair, and Rodney was startled by the caress for a moment, but then he leaned into it.

Evan smelled, inexplicably, like lavender soap.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, dream well.” Evan rose and headed back out into the workshop.

Rodney lay down on his pillow - a very comfortable, fluffy down pillow, much nicer than the one on his bed in his apartments - and stared into the darkness, puzzled. What would an automaton know about dreams?

Most automatons were metal skeletons with their engines running inside them, had to be refilled with coal on a regular basis to keep working. They had enough human form to be useful for human tasks, but of course other automatons used for less human tasks could look less human.

Some performing automatons, like musicians and dancers and aerialists, were even more human-seeming, with thin layers of metal over their skeletons painted to look like skin and eyes and mouths and hair. The more expensive performing automatons had wigs and perhaps even articulated mouths so they could mimic singing or speaking.

Every engineer had heard of the automatons created by Janus himself, automatons so lifelike that they were indistinguishable from other humans, but of course automatons had no essence, no soul, no _life,_ so humans would immediately know they were just a counterfeit.

Janus’s automatons were so complex that only a handful were made (indeed, only five), and he’d guarded them fiercely till his death, so no one knew what they looked like, and then his heirs, not caring for them, had sold them off to the highest bidders. One of Dave Sheppard’s predecessors at Sheppard Industries could have been one of those bidders.

But Janus’s machines in actuality were quite simple. His orrery clock was all gears. Yes, it was capable of predicting eclipses, tracking the irregular orbit of the Moon, the sun, and the zodiacs, but Rodney had been capable of building a similar clock when he was only twelve. Janus’s technology, once rediscovered, had opened the floodgates for new technology, and his treatises on ether made ether sails a reality. But nothing in Janus’s notebooks had included anything about automatons so lifelike they could be mistaken for human.

According to his notes, his automatons had been capable of much of the performing sought in higher-end automatons today, music and painting and acrobatics.

But what automaton could speak of dreams?

Other than one programmed with regular human idioms.

Even if an automaton could speak of dreams, what automaton would have caressed Rodney so gently?

Of course, Evan had perfectly steady hands. Rodney should have set him to simple fabrication tasks ages ago. He knew the others had Evan help, sometimes, when they weren’t using him as a calculator or general dogsbody fetching tea and snacks.

Rodney closed his eyes and pushed away thoughts of Evan’s hands on his skin and thought of the _Atlantis_ , and what she would look like when she finally took to the sky.

*

Rodney woke to the sound of water.

He immediately opened his eyes, because the gentle splash of water meant he was on a boat meant he was back on that awful prison ship meant he still had to work off the debts his parents had incurred so Jeannie could stay safely with his Aunt and Uncle meant -

Meant Evan, gloriously nude, was sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of the lab, cleaning himself with a sponge and pail of water.

Evan, who looked completely human from head to toe, was smoothing the sponge first along one arm, then the other. Evan had a faint dusting of hair on his chest, thicker patches of hair where limbs met torso. When he stretched out one leg to run the sponge over it, Rodney saw that Evan had a cock and bollocks, same as any other man.

Rodney said, “What are you doing?”

Evan glanced up. “I am washing myself.”

He was utterly unashamed of his nudity. Why should he be ashamed? He was beautiful, all smooth golden skin and thick muscles and -

“But you are an automaton.”

“A machine must be clean if it is to run well,” Evan said.

He looked _human._ He didn’t have the same articulated joints as other automatons, just knuckles and knees and elbows and hips.

Rodney pushed himself up. “Do you use soap?”

“Of course,” Evan said, “if I wish to be properly clean.”

Did automatons wish for anything?

That did explain why he smelled of lavender.

Rodney groped for his pocket watch. “What time is it?”

Evan said, “It is thirteen minutes past six.”

That should have been a sign that he wasn’t human, the way he always perfectly knew the time. Rodney’s house girl, Katie, usually roused him at six, and then he had breakfast at the lab at about seven - breakfast that Evan always fetched for him.

“Right. Well, I should bathe myself. And dress.”

“When I am finished, I will draw a bath for you.” Evan wrung the sponge out, then set it on the edge of the pail.

Rodney watched, terribly fascinated, as Evan dressed himself in clean clothes for the day - drawers, shirtsleeves, stockings, trousers, cravat, waistcoat, shoes. He wore different clothes every day, seemed to possess a wardrobe. Who did Evan’s laundry? Rodney’s house girl performed the task for him.

Rodney hadn’t cared to know the details of Evan’s personal life when he’d thought Evan was human. Come to think of it, Evan never mentioned his family, but then Rodney was estranged from his family, so he wasn’t about to ask questions he didn’t want to answer himself. Now that Rodney knew Evan was an automaton, he wanted to know everything.

“I’ll fetch your breakfast,” Evan said, “and you can eat while I’m filling and heating the bath.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said, a little helplessly, as Evan headed for the door.

Rodney had straightened up his pallet and mostly hid it out of sight by the time Evan returned with a tray of sausage rolls, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and toast. Evan set the tray on Rodney’s workbench, and Rodney tucked in while Evan fetched a large tin bath from somewhere in the back of the lab. Evan went to the pump outside - Rodney’s workshop had its own well - and filled his pail with water, and then he began to fill the bath.

With cold water.

Of course. Evan was an automaton. He didn’t understand that Rodney would need hot water.

Only then Evan fetched the kettle off the hook over the fireplace - he’d started a fire before he’d dressed - and poured boiling water into to the bath. He refilled the kettle, set it back over the fire, and then refilled the pail.

Evan filled the bath a third of the way with cold water, filled the bath to two thirds with water heated over the fire. Rodney ate slowly, sipping at his coffee and watching Evan work. Usually he was otherwise engaged while Katie performed her morning duties, mentally preparing himself for the day, so to see Evan filling the bath was - strange. A bit domestic. Rodney had filled a bath for his family when he was younger, before everything had gone terribly wrong.

Once the bath was ready, Evan fetched a towel and a bar of soap. The same lavender soap he used, from the looks of it, for its edges were rounded with use.

“Would you like me to bathe you?” Evan asked.

Rodney imagined Evan’s hands sliding over his warm, soapy, wet skin, the rough scrub of the sponge, and -

“No, but thank you for the offer. I am capable of bathing myself.” Rodney swallowed hard.

Evan wasn’t offended by the refusal. Instead he cleared away Rodney’s breakfast items and went to return them to the bakery.

As soon as Evan was out the door, Rodney stripped off his nightshirt and drawers and plopped himself in the bath. He scrubbed as fast as he could even though a long, warm bath was something he enjoyed. The bath was a good place to do some thinking, but he didn’t think things would be well for him, if he was still bathing when Evan returned, because Evan would probably offer to dry him and dress him, and -

Why did Evan know how to do such tasks? Rodney had assumed him a competent engineer at first, then some kind of automaton specifically designed and programmed to complete manufacturing tasks.

Unless Evan’s services as a gentleman’s gentleman were part of his programming to be a personal assistant? What had he done for members of the Sheppard family, in the past?

Rodney managed to make it out of the bath and dry himself off and get halfway back into his clothes when Evan returned with more coffee and some tarts to keep Rodney going.

“I apologize,” Evan said. “I neglected to fetch your razor and other implements from Miss Katie.”

“You’re not my servant,” Rodney said hastily, because the intimacy of Evan shaving him was too much to contemplate. Being vulnerable, baring his throat to Evan - no. Then he eyed Evan. “Precisely what have you been programmed to do?”

“Whatever people have asked of me. I have been an aerialist, a sculptor, a dance partner, a personal assistant, a servant, a bodyguard, a soldier.” Evan shrugged.

It was impossible for any one person to achieve professional competency in all of those functions in a single lifetime. Evan looked to be a couple of years younger than Rodney, if that. How long had he been alive?

Not alive - around. He was a machine. Machines weren’t alive.

And yet Rodney had felt the moments when they came alive, the thrum of energy through a ship before it took flight.

“Which of those things was your favorite to do?” Rodney asked.

“I enjoyed being an aerialist,” Evan said. “It’s the closest I can ever be to flying.”

One thing automatons were never allowed to be programmed for was flight - not piloting a craft, not to be used as unmanned craft. Only a human’s instincts were enough for the enormous responsibility that was taking to the sky.

“If you could, in your spare time, would you be an aerialist again?” Rodney asked.

“If I had silks and spare time,” Evan said.

“Silks?” Rodney asked.

Evan nodded.

“What kinds of silks?”

“Long. Strong. From floor to ceiling.” Evan made an expansive gesture, describing the dimensions of them.

Rodney filed that away for later. He helped Evan empty the bath out back - though he suspected Evan was more than strong enough to lift the full bath on his own - and left Evan to clean the bath and deal with the laundry and linens, and he headed out to the workshop floor, crawled into the heart of the _Atlantis’s_ engine rooms.

Rodney was lost in the problem of making sure the energy source connected to the engine as efficiently as possible by the time the rest of the team arrived.

With them came Teyla and Ronon, Ronon to help Radek - he was interested in science, though he’d not been educated in it back on his own planet - and Teyla to work with Miko.

“I wish to help however I may,” she said.

She was anxious about getting back to the Moon to see her family.

Right. There were more pressing concerns than Rodney’s unhealthy fascination with an automaton.

Except Evan brought Rodney a mid-morning snack and a coffee refill, and he also brought dinner for everyone, and he brought a mid-afternoon snack for everyone, and also supper for everyone, and at the end of the day, after everyone left - Radek to deliver the daily report to Sheppard - Rodney went through the supply forms that Evan had filled out with his perfect cursive, and he added an order for a couple of lengths of silk. If anyone asked, Miko needed them for her sail designs.

*

The next day, Dave Sheppard was back to inspect progress on the _Atlantis._ He seemed mollified that Rodney was already there when he arrived and looked to have been there for a while, what with the remnants of breakfast spread out on the workbench.

“You are making better progress,” Sheppard observed, while Rodney did his best to ignore the man’s presence and keep his hands steady.

“My team is,” Rodney said.

“Perhaps my presence inspires you to new heights of greatness after all,” Sheppard said.

Work was going faster because Rodney was working till late and getting up early to work again, and Evan could work through the night, doing simple manufacturing tasks while Rodney slept. An automaton didn’t need to sleep, after all. Just to refill its coal supply to keep on churning. (Although Rodney had seen Evan fully nude and he looked perfectly anatomically correct, like any human, and where did he put his coal? Did he eat it?)

“My greatness needs no muse,” Rodney said shortly. He wasn’t about to insult Sheppard today, though. “Although if you really wanted to improve productivity, you’d have sent someone more competent than Kavanagh to assist me.”

He glanced up to see if the barb had met its mark.

Sheppard frowned; so he was not immune to politics either.

“Carry on, Dr. McKay,” Sheppard said, and swept out of the lab. He paused to speak to the others before he left.

Rodney was working on another delicate component, this one all the more delicate because it was made of adamantium and titanium. He didn’t look up from where he was hunched over his workbench, a magnifying glass on a stand and a little gas lantern all he had to assist him.

“You can come out now.”

John said, voice muffled from where he’d been hiding behind a stack of the latest deliveries, “Not till he’s all the way out the door.”

“I’d think a battle-hardened Airman such as yourself wouldn’t be quite so afraid of an overbearing dandy like Dave Sheppard.”

At that, John poked his head out from behind the tower of boxes. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“And yet you cannot show your face when he’s present.”

“Sometimes caution is the better part of valor,” John said, a little indignantly. “How are the wings coming along?”

John was obsessed with wings the way most men were obsessed with ladies’ ankles.

“Talk to Miko and find out.”

“You’re no fun today.”

“I don’t understand why anyone expects me to both be entertaining and productive.” Rodney did glance up then.

The workshop door opened, closed, and there was John, perched on the edge of the workbench, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said.

He was irritatingly handsome and he knew it.

“Right, Evan?”

Evan said, “For some, being entertaining is working. But not for Dr. McKay. Pardon me, Captain. I need to set this down.”

John scooted out of the way obligingly, and Evan laid a package at Rodney’s elbow.

“This came for you. From the tailors.”

John eyed Rodney. “You order some fine clothes? Looking to impress a lady?”

“Hardly,” Rodney said. “Any personal deliveries would be made to my apartments.” He hoped he wasn’t blushing.

John waggled his eyebrows, opened his mouth for further repartee, but Evan said,

“Captain, Ronon asks for you.”

John straightened up, offered Rodney and Evan a sloppy salute. “Keep up the good work. I want to fly as soon as possible.” And he strode out onto the hangar floor, calling for Ronon.

The two men greeted each other with backslapping hugs and laughter.

Rodney said, “The package is for you.” He nudged it toward Evan.

Evan stared at the brown paper and coarse twine. “Me?”

“Silks,” Rodney said.

“Silks?”

“In the evenings, when you need a break from your work,” Rodney said.

Evan’s eyes lit. He unwrapped the package carefully, pushed the paper aside, smoothed a hand over the black, shimmery silk.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Rodney didn’t look at him, but he said, a bit gruffly, “You’re welcome.”

Maybe it would do him some good, if things slowed down a bit. Let Dave Sheppard think that his presence was a hindrance rather than a help.

*

Because it was a sultry day and the others were feeling cooped up in the workshop, they left to find their own supper, leaving Rodney and Evan alone. Rodney wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he had been feeling rather cooped up in the lab whilst hunched over tiny components all day, the construction of which he only trusted to himself and Evan. He decided to take his meal out in the broader space of the workshop. He walked to the bakery himself, purchased a meat pie and a small fruit tart and a flagon of ale, and then returned to the workshop. If anyone asked, he’d been outside and had some fresh air.

Rodney found a small folding table and went to arrange it just below one of the skylights so he could get some late spring sun, and then someone said, faintly, from above,

“Look out.”

Rodney looked up instinctively and saw Evan, standing on one of the topmost rafters. Terror skittered down his spine.

“Evan! Come down from there! Are you mad? You could fall to your death!”

Except machines were neither sane nor insane, and not alive, so they could not die, but -

Evan knelt down and then leaned far over the side of the wide beam, leaned too far -

“Evan!”

Evan laughed. “Dr. McKay, you forget, I am a trained aerialist. I never fall.” He was fastening something to the underside of the beam with dexterous twists of his hands.

Rodney was sure that such an installation by an ordinary human would require tools.

His heart pounded in his chest, but Evan continued working. A couple of times he leaned so far Rodney was sure he was going to fall, but instead two lengths of black silk fluttered down from above, and they formed an insubstantial pillar from floor to ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Evan said. “I’ll make sure they don’t get in the way of anyone.” And then he swayed to the side and fell off the beam.

Rodney couldn’t even scream.

Except Evan caught the silks and held on, slid all the way down to the ground, landed neatly and with a little bow, like acrobats gave at the end of a trick. He was smiling, truly smiling, not the polite curve of his lips he offered everyone, but bright and _alive._

Then he gathered up the silks and towed them toward the wall so he could fasten them out of the way, and Rodney started to breathe again. What had come over him, that he’d bought a toy for an automaton? Automatons needed no toys, distractions, breaks. They just did what they were told.

But Evan cast that smile at Rodney, and he wouldn’t take back the silks, couldn’t.

None of the others noticed the silks when they returned -  or if they did, they didn’t comment - and everyone dove back into work. The important thing to do was to get the wing connectors fixed up so once the engine was ready to fire up, they could see how the system worked without risking the wings and sails if the engine malfunctioned. Rodney and Evan had run the calculations multiple times, as had Miko and Radek, and he was pretty sure there would be no malfunctions, but Rodney wasn’t looking to take unnecessary risks. Everyone pitched in on the workshop floor, Radek and Kavanagh and Teyla and Ronon holding pieces in place while Evan, Rodney, and Miko did their best to get the pieces welded and soldered together.

By the time supper rolled around, all of them were exhausted from the combined heat of the welding irons and the heat of the day, and Rodney couldn’t, in good conscience, keep them much longer. He had to let them get home and recover. All of them were red-faced and tired.

“We’re going to have supper together at the Crossed Keys down the street,” Radek said to Rodney. “Would you care to join us? I know you enjoy their Salisbury steaks.”

Rodney scrubbed his face with his already wet kerchief. “No, but I appreciate the invitation. I have things to finish here.”

“Are you sure?” Miko asked.

“I will make sure he eats,” Evan said.

Miko looked at him, then at Rodney, then nodded and followed the others to the door.

Rodney watched them go, then turned to Evan. “Just one more piece, and we can take a break. If we work for a couple more hours, we can finish the starboard wing assembly.”

Evan nodded. “I will fetch supper for you as well.”

Rodney wanted to tell Evan to use the money to buy some food for himself, because that was the polite thing to do, only Evan wasn’t human. Instead, he said, “Thank you.”

Evan smiled at him, a smaller, more muted version of that smile he’d had on his face when he’d jumped down from the ceiling of the hangar, and headed for the door.

Rodney went out to the pump to fill the pail with water so he could wash his face and hands, cool himself off before he ate. Since no one else was around, he shed his waistcoat and cravat, pushed his sleeves up past his elbows so he could cool down a little more. They were making good progress. He’d write the daily report for Sheppard himself.

By the time Evan returned with a steaming tray of food, Rodney had cooled down considerably, but he saw no need to fuss with his waistcoat and cravat. After all, Evan wasn’t a human, had no qualms about Rodney’s state of deshabille.

Evan set the tray down in front of Rodney - who’d retreated to the relative dimness and coolness of the lab, the familiar clutter of his workbench - and then headed back out to the workshop. While Rodney ate, he could hear the familiar clink of Evan tidying up tools, sweeping the floor.

Rodney had just about finished his meal when Evan poked his head into the lab. “Do you mind if I borrow the Victrola?”

Rodney raised his eyebrows. “You listen to music?”

Evan nodded earnestly.

“I don’t mind,” Rodney said, and Evan scooped it up with enviable ease, carried it back out to the workshop floor.

Rodney expected to hear music start to play, but there was nothing, just the sounds of Evan tidying up further. Usually everyone was careful about their tools and workspaces, but Rodney knew today’s sultry weather had made them all more tired and irritable. He knew that yelling at them wouldn’t help. Ordinarily he’d have yelled at them, but he’d been distracted.

By the fear that had subsumed him when he’d thought Evan had fallen from the rafters.

Rodney took his time drinking his evening glass of wine, let Evan do what he wished. He had important things to be working on. The _Atlantis_ was the fruition of a lifetime of study and work, a dream come true. Obsessing over an automaton - albeit a very impressively designed and manufactured automaton - was absurd.

But when Rodney headed out to the workshop floor to call Evan to work, he saw that Evan had used some pieces of scrap metal to create a giant trumpet for the Victrola, so the sound would carry even farther. Evan could be trusted to fabricate components that Rodney had instructed him on, but to invent a whole new component - that should have been impossible.

Rodney paused in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Evan had the Victrola propped up on the folding table Rodney sometimes used as a dining table, and he had the giant trumpet propped up by several items, including the broom and dustpan.

“When have you made a Victrola trumpet before?” Rodney asked.

Evan, who was dusting off the trumpet carefully, glanced at him. “I haven’t.”

“Who taught you to make one?”

Evan looked amused. “It wasn’t difficult to figure out. It’s basically a cone.”

“You can learn on your own?”

“I wouldn’t be much of a servant if I constantly had to be instructed,” Evan said. “My masters are better served if I learn what to do and perform tasks without being asked.”

Rodney swallowed hard. “Am I your master?”

“I belong to Mr. Sheppard,” Evan said. “My function is to assist you on the _Atlantis_ project.”

Rodney wondered what would happen to Evan after the project. Would he end up back in storage?

“How many masters have you had?”

“Seventeen, most of them Sheppards,” Evan said.

How long _had_ he been alive?

Evan straightened up, looked at the tools in Rodney’s hands. “Are you ready to continue?”

Rodney gripped his mag wrench more tightly. “Yes, let’s continue.”

They worked side-by-side for a couple more hours, barely speaking to each other - but then Rodney didn’t really need to say much to Evan, just hold out his hand, and Evan would give him whatever tool it was he needed without a word, without need of thanks. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, Rodney studied Evan (it was easier to make this study covertly when he had his magnifying goggles on). Evan was an automaton. While he worked, he ought to look like other manufacturing automatons: lifeless, a machine cycling through its programming. Instead, Evan looked just as intent as Miko or Radek or Kavanagh, brow furrowed slightly, jaw tight, lips pursed when he was thoughtful.

What was under that skin of his? Actual artificial muscle and sinew and bones? How articulated was his metal frame, that he could have such subtle facial expressions? And what did his engine look like, that he could appear to have living light behind his eyes? Whoever had created him had been the kind of genius Rodney could only dream of being, and Rodney’s genius was no small matter.

How much had Evan cost?

After a couple of hours, their work was done. Evan offered to tidy up the tools while Rodney penned the final report for Sheppard. As soon as it was written, folded, and sealed, Rodney headed for the door, shrugging on his jacket and pulling on his hat, swagger stick to hand. He didn’t use a full-sized cane, because that just said _I’m a dandy, please try to rob me_ this late at night in this part of the city, but he wasn’t about to go out unarmed. He knew the route to Sheppard’s house, and most of it was well-lit, so Rodney wasn’t too worried about his safety, but he wasn’t incautious or a fool. He made sure to smile and nod at any gentlefolk he encountered who were out and about for evening constitutionals, to make eye contact with any constables on patrol so they would see him, remember him.

Sheppard’s secretary, a bald, bespectacled lawyer named Woolsey, met Rodney at the servant’s door. Rodney surrendered the report and didn’t wait around to watch Woolsey break the seal, offer up commentary on the day’s progress. He’d worked hard and he’d worked long, and he just wanted to sleep.

As he returned to the hangar that functioned as the workshop for Meredith Labs, he realized he could hear faint strains of music. Rimsky-Korsakov. Scheherazade. Rodney had learned to play the piano solo versions of the more popular movements. Where was it coming from? He turned, searching for an open window through which a wireless was broadcasting, or maybe even a concert hall, but the hangar was located in the industrial section of the city, not the residential or entertainment district.

Rodney hadn’t listened to the symphony in a while, and he hummed along absently, pushed the door open.

And the music hit him full force.

He yanked the door shut behind him, because surely the neighbors would complain, but then the entire rest of the world fell away.

Because Evan was flying. He was twined up in the two lengths of silk, up close to the rafter beam the silks were hung from, suspended on his side and spinning and spinning and spinning. He extended his leg and arm one at a time, and the effect was like a flower blossoming.

Evan wore only a pair of closely-fitted black trousers, his feet bare, and there was something strangely intimate about his being barefoot, even more so than when he’d been nude and bathing that one morning.

And then Evan was spinning, the silks wrapped around him unwinding as he spiraled toward the ground.

Rodney’s heart leapt into his throat, but Evan stopped short of hitting the floor, the silks somehow still bound around his knees and ankles.

He hung there, arms outspread, like the hanging man on a tarot card, only then he swung, parted his legs, and was upright, unwinding his legs even as he somersaulted upward, climbing the silks once more.

He was dancing to the music, Rodney realized. The entire performance was a seamless flow of flying, dancing, and acrobatics. Evan was forming beautiful shapes and lines and motions in the air, ascending and descending the silks. The transitions between each motion had to have been planned in advance, because the silks were part prop, part support, part frame, and Evan was constantly winding and unwinding, swinging and swaying and spinning.

Flying.

Evan twirled downward toward the floor again, but instead of hanging there he let the momentum of his spin carry him back upward, somersaulting so his arms were wrapped in the silks and he was suspended mid-air on just the strength of his arms and chest. The expression on his face was - perfectly serene. Jubilant. He was beautiful. Perfect. Almost angelic - if one believed in angels.

Evan tipped his head back, exposing the line of his throat, and suddenly Rodney had visions of Evan spread across his massive, luxuriously soft four-poster bed back in his apartments, Evan bound in silks and bare for the taking, and -

Rodney shook himself out of it.

There lie madness.

He’d no more lie with an automaton than he would with a wrench or a wireless receiver.

Rodney headed for his lab and the lumpy, uncomfortable pallet he kept there, stripped down to his shirtsleeves and drawers, and crawled under the duvet. He shoved his head under his pillow to block out the music - and visions of Evan, dancing in air and on silks.

It took him a long, long time to fall asleep.

*

When Rodney woke the next morning, it was to Evan kneeling beside his pallet, stroking his hair gently.

“I apologize, Dr. McKay.” His expression was regretful. “I didn’t realize you returned last night after delivering the daily report. You must have been unable to sleep because of the ruckus I was making. Unfortunately, Mr. Sheppard and Madame Weir will be here soon.”

Rodney blinked at Evan, confused. Why was Evan apologizing? His performance the night before had been downright beautiful.

Evan eased him up into a sitting position, handed him a mug of hot coffee.

Rodney hummed, pleased at the gentle warmth of Evan’s hand on his shoulder.

“Come, Dr. McKay,” Evan said, shaking him. “You need to wash and dress.”

Rodney was so, so exhausted. He let Evan manipulate him to his feet, wrangle him out of his nightshirt. Rodney managed to keep at least one hand on his coffee mug the entire time, slowly waking himself up.

By the time Rodney finished drinking his coffee, he was fully awake. And starkly aware of Evan kneeling between his thighs, fastening his work boots.

“What are you doing?”

Evan lifted his head, and Rodney realized several things. First, Evan was close enough to be kissed. Second of all, Rodney was fully dressed in clean clothes, felt strangely fresh and clean.

“Madame Weir and Mr. Sheppard will be here soon,” Evan said again.

Rodney stared at him. “Did you _bathe_ me?”

“Just a quick sponge.” Evan smiled briefly. “And I combed your hair.” He leaned up, fastened Rodney’s cravat with deft hands.

 _How_ had Rodney slept through Evan’s hands on his bare skin? Because the brush of Evan’s fingertips against his throat was sending lightning sparking along Rodney’s nerves.

Rodney realized they were eye to eye. Just the slightest tilt of his head and their lips would meet.

Except he couldn’t feel the warmth of Evan’s breath. Because Evan didn’t breathe.

Rodney went to pull away, but then Evan propelled him to his feet, herded him over to the workbench where breakfast was waiting.

“Eat fast,” he said.

Rodney, heart pounding, watched Evan head for the door.

“Good morning Madame Weir, Mr. Sheppard. Please, come see the completed starboard wing assembly.”

“Good morning, Evan,” Elizabeth said pleasantly, as if Evan were a real human.

Rodney bolted down his toast, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and sausages as fast as he could, keeping an ear on Evan’s conversation all the while.

By some miracle, Evan managed to head off Sheppard before he came into the lab to harangue Rodney about progress. The man sounded jovial and even cheerful as he departed, chatting with Evan at the hangar door.

But Elizabeth stepped into the lab.

“Rodney,” she began.

Only John appeared from wherever he managed to hide himself at the back of the lab first thing in the morning - was he sleeping at the lab? Where did the man even live?

“John,” Elizabeth said, coming up short.

He blinked at her. “Madame Weir. Good morning.” He inclined his head at her politely.

He had genteel manners, but then he was an officer and a gentleman.

“I need to speak to Rodney,” Elizabeth said.

“Of course,” John said, stepping around her. “Is Dave Sheppard -?”

“He’s gone,” Rodney said.

Elizabeth caught his eye. Her expression was grim.

John, still looking surprised and wrong-footed, headed for the door. “Evan, show me what you got done last night! Burning the midnight oil, were you?”

“Some,” Evan said. “But we’ve finished a wing assembly. Come see.”

“How long will it take to get the other one done?” John asked.

“That depends on Dr. McKay. I don’t need sleep, but he does, and he doesn’t get very much as it is.”

Rodney was startled by the genuine concern in Evan’s voice, but then Elizabeth closed the door. She crossed the room and stood beside Rodney.

“Things on the Moon are becoming quite dire,” she said. “How soon can the _Atlantis_ be ready to fly?”

Rodney thought back on how long it had taken to get one wing assembly done, how long it would take if he and Evan worked longer hours, if the others worked longer hours, what other tasks remained.

“A fortnight,” he said.

“No sooner?”

“We cannot work without stopping for rest and sustenance,” Rodney said. Well, Evan could, but he couldn’t finish the ship on his own. He was one person.

Elizabeth nodded. “As soon as you can. Teyla is much needed by the Lunar Peoples of Athos.”

“Just how dire _is_ it?”

“As I said previously, _quite.”_ Elizabeth’s tone was clipped.

Rodney nodded tightly, comprehending her understatement for what it was.

“And tell no one. We don’t want panic breaking out,” Elizabeth said.

“Panic? Why would there be panic?” Rodney asked.

“Because,” Elizabeth said, “the Moon is much smaller than Earth, and if the conflict there is not contained, it will spill over to the closest population.”

Rodney nodded again.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

Rodney led her back to the door, opened it. “Good day, Elizabeth,” he said, as pleasantly as he could muster.

She smiled, headed for main door, pulling on her hat as she went.

“Rodney,” Radek said, watching Elizabeth depart with narrowed eyes, “what are you always talking to Elizabeth about, shut up alone in the lab like that?”

“None of your business,” Rodney said.

“If you are romancing one of the team, that is our business,” Radek said.

Rodney rolled his eyes. Then he cleared his throat, raised his voice. “Just for that, we’re all working late tonight. Get to it!”

“Rodney,” Teyla protested. She already had her sleeves rolled up and goggles on, helping Miko while she soldered part of the port side wing connector together.

Rodney avoided her gaze. She probably had no idea what machinations Elizabeth was unfolding on her behalf. He rolled up his own sleeves.

“Evan, get me my goggles and mag wrench. We have work to do.”

*

Rodney wasn’t sure what Evan had done, but Sheppard and Elizabeth stayed away, didn’t come around to the shop and bother him or anyone else. Rodney produced two progress reports every day, one for Sheppard, one for Elizabeth, and he delivered them himself, partially to have a chance to get out of the lab, partially because he wasn’t sure he could handle watching Evan take off his clothes again.

No one blinked twice when someone, Miko or Radek or Teyla or Ronon alike, shrugged off some outer layers and rolled up their sleeves to dive into work, but with Evan it was different.

Long after the others had left for the day, Rodney had been working his way through several chocolate pastries when Evan stood in the middle of the workshop floor and shrugged off his waistcoat. He folded it and set it on a small work stool, then unknotted his cravat. At first Rodney hadn’t thought much of it, because he’d abandoned his waistcoat and cravat hours ago, but then Evan had peeled off his shirtsleeves, and Rodney had been startled by the flash of bare skin out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up, and Evan, torso perfectly bare, was leaning over, placing his folded shirt atop his folded waistcoat and cravat. Then he bent down, unfastened his boots and set them aside, drew off his stockings, tucked one into each boot. He straightened up, shook his limbs out, and Rodney was captivated by the slide of muscle beneath skin.

Evan reached out, flipped on the victrola.

A sweeping Liszt piano concerto filled the workshop. Evan reached out, twined his arms in the silks, and pulled himself upward, slow and graceful.

Rodney couldn’t help but watch, gaze fixed on Evan as he ascended hand over hand, looked like he was levitating even though he was climbing.

And then Rodney wrenched his gaze away, heart pounding. He had to finish his food and get back to work. Evan would join him soon enough.

When the music faded, Evan returned to terra firma, and he shut off the victrola. Rodney glanced up from where he was assembling some timing gears for the portside wing and saw Evan pull on his shirt, stockings, and shoes, and then they were working side by side.

They worked in silence, apart from the occasional request to hand over a tool, until Rodney nodded off over another gear assembly and nearly skewered himself with a screwdriver. Evan chivvied Rodney off to bed, and as Rodney collapsed on his pallet, he could hear Evan humming a familiar tune and still working.

And then Rodney was awakened by Evan shaking his shoulder. His eyelids felt like sandpaper and he felt like there were lead weights on his ankles and wrists, but he hauled himself to his feet so he could bathe and dress himself. He’d finished breakfast and was already working by the time the others arrived.

“Are we working late tonight?” Radek asked.

Rodney looked at him. “Do I look like I stopped work early last night?”

Radek said nothing, and Rodney continued to work. A few moments later, Radek shed his waistcoat and cravat and rolled up his sleeves and pitched in beside him, and John joined them quietly.

After that, it was easy to set the pace. They worked till dinner, and Evan fetched food. They worked till supper, and Evan fetched food. They worked till most people’s bedtimes, and then the others left. Evan fetched coffee and a snack for Rodney so he could keep going. While Rodney took a break to recharge, Evan turned on classical music, shed most of his clothes, and took to the air, climbing the silks and spinning and tumbling and turning.

At first, Rodney did his best not to stare too much, lest Evan catch him and get the wrong impression - not that an automaton could get the wrong impression about a man staring at him - but Evan was in his own world when he was being an aerialist, and Rodney could watch unabashedly.

Evan was so, so beautiful.

Visions of Evan always chased Rodney into his sleep, and his dreams were a fevered jumble of kisses and silks and skin on skin.

The fevered pace wasn’t really sustainable, but thanks to the magic of Turkish coffee, Rodney managed to keep going late at night. The others were clearly unhappy about the pace - and unhappy about Rodney’s constant sour mood because he was constantly tired. Because Rodney was working far longer hours than they, they didn’t complain, at least not in his hearing.

After a week, Elizabeth arrived while everyone was sitting down to dinner. Evan brought increased amounts of food and coffee with every meal so everyone had the energy to sustain their pace.

“Dr. McKay, may I speak to you?” she asked.

Her tone was very tense.

Rodney gestured for her to precede him into the lab, and he shut the door behind them.

“Rodney,” Elizabeth began, but Rodney cut her off.

“We’ll be finished by the end of today,” he said.

She stared at him. “What?”

“Apart from the finishing touches and an actual test-fire of the engine, construction will be complete today.”

“But - in your reports - you said next week - you’ve always said it would take a fortnight.”

Rodney shrugged. “Sometimes my genius and hard work surprises even me.”

Having Teyla, Ronon, and John helping had definitely pushed the work along, as had the brutal hours.

“When will you test it?”

“Tomorrow,” Rodney said.

Elizabeth nodded tightly. “Thank you.” And she swept out of the lab, headed straight for the door.

Radek watched her go, then cast Rodney a look, but he didn’t look inclined to laugh, not one bit.

“Come on,” Rodney said. “We have work to do.”

*

That evening, Rodney sent everyone home before supper.

“Rodney,” Miko said, pausing at the door. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Rodney said.

Evan said, “I will make sure he eats and sleeps.”

Ronon said, “He’s a human. He needs more food and sleep than you think.”

Evan said again, “I will make sure.”

Teyla patted Miko’s arm, and they followed everyone else out of the workshop.

Once the door closed behind them, Rodney said, “Before we eat, let’s fire it up.”

“Fire it up?” Evan asked.

Rodney held up the shining brass key. “The engine. Let’s see how she runs.”

Evan’s eyes went wide. “The _Atlantis_ is ready to fly?”

Rodney said, “We’re finished.”

“But - the others -”

“They know we’re close.”

“Shouldn’t the others get to see?”

“Only if it works.”

Evan, who’d rolled up his sleeves and started for the coal bin in the corner, paused. “You think it won’t work?”

“I’ve been working on coffee and little sleep for days,” Rodney said. “I’m not perfect. Go get the coal.”

Evan scrambled to obey.

They worked together to shovel coal into the engine oven, and Evan filled the water tank, and then Rodney used the flint and striker he kept in his pocket to get the fire going, and then he closed the oven. He watched the pressure build on the gauges as steam started to fill the engine, and he inserted the engine key.

As soon as the pressure hit the right level, Rodney turned the key, felt the engine begin to rumble, waited for the moment when the wings came to life.

They didn’t.

Evan frowned, headed back up to the main deck to peer over the railing. He returned a few moments later.

“It didn’t work. Why?”

Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face, turned the key to the ‘off’ position. “Let’s figure it out.”

*

“I thought the whole point of your revolutionary engine is that it’s more energy-efficient than any engine on the market.” John wasn’t perched on the edge of Rodney’s workbench for once, stood with him and the rest of the _Atlantis_ team just inside the doorway of the lab.

“It is, if you consider the net energy requirements and expenditures in the design,” Rodney said. “What makes my engine so energy-efficient is that it’s - it’s almost like a human body. Once you get past the start-up cost, which is pretty massive, it more or less keeps itself going.”

“Like what Janus wrote of,” Radek said.

“What Janus wrote of but never left detailed notes on and that no one has ever come close to,” Rodney said, a little peevishly.

Radek rolled his eyes, took off his spectacles and cleaned them on the hem of his jacket.

“Great. So let’s fire it up,” John said. “You said Sheppard’s breathing down your neck, Elizabeth’s breathing down your neck - as much as Elizabeth ever does anything aggressively - and this one hurdle will solve all of our problems. I get to fly. You get that prize from the Royal Guild of Arts and Sciences. Radek has enough money to keep him in a lifetime supply of kolaches. Miko can take her sail design elsewhere, go back to star diving. And Kavanagh will finally get out of your hair.”

It was Teyla who said, “It is not that simple. The initial expenditure of energy is massive, is it not? Humans are perfect machines, capable of reproducing and forming their environment around them to meet their needs. But in their early years, they are completely vulnerable. They spend their first few months utterly dependent on another human being, if not their first few years.”

She was the only one of them who was a parent or anything close to it.

“Are you saying you can’t do it?” John asked. He fixed Rodney with a look that was far more serious than any Rodney had seen on his face before.

“If I had more time I could figure it out,” Rodney said. “But I don’t _have_ time. Sheppard’s patience is at an end, and there are other external pressures.” He very deliberately did not look at Teyla when he spoke.

John was a soldier, believed in saving all he could, in leaving no person behind. If he knew of Teyla’s predicament, he’d do something rash.

“Then what’s your plan?” John pressed.

"Janus created a device to power his automatons. It could provide the initial delivery of energy we need to get the system up and running. It would fit in the space, and it would convert the energy in such a way that we wouldn’t just be setting off a powder keg in the engine furnaces,” Rodney said, because he knew how John’s mind worked.

“Janus’s notes on all of his greatest inventions are incomplete,” Miko said.

“I managed to fill in some of the gaps on his automaton designs.” Rodney had painstakingly recreated Janus’s energy calculations and solved the pieces he’d deliberately left unwritten. “This piece - it amounts to the automaton’s heart - will get us what we need. We just need this piece.”

“How the hell are we going to find this one piece of an automaton that we’re not even sure still exists, if it even existed at all?” Radek asked.

“Other pieces of Janus’s legendary designs have been found,” Rodney said. “We have to try. We _need_ this engine up and running.”

Really, Teyla needed this engine up and running. Rodney didn’t care if Sheppard and Elizabeth were mad at him. He was used to people being mad at him.

Radek said, “We should ask for help. I will send a message to Dr. Carter.” He started for the pigeon coops.

Miko said to Ronon, who’d been watching the entire exchange silently, “Come on. I’ll show you where some of Janus's works are archived.”

Ronon nodded and followed her to the door, handed her her hat and draped her shawl across her shoulders, held the door open for her, followed her out. Strange. He rarely cared about Earth-style manners and deportment.

John swept for the door. He almost crashed into Kavanagh, who was just coming into the workshop.

“Hey,” Kavanagh said.

John grabbed his shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”

Evan emerged from the corner. “I’ll help,” he said.

He always helped.

Rodney said, “Come on. I have copies of many of Janus’s written works.”

Evan nodded and followed him.

Rodney went into his lab and found all of his copies of Janus’s written works that he had to hand. He dispatched Evan back to his apartments with a list of other volumes to fetch, and then he lit an oil lamp and set to reading. He didn’t need to read through everything, but if he went over the specs of Janus’s automatons, he could cross-reference mentions of the primary components that had been used in some of his other creations. Janus had been making automatons before manufacture of them had been privatized and commercialized, so he didn’t have a convenient nomenclature of models and classes and systems. The same models could be sold off under various names, some fanciful and invented, some related to important components in the models, some related to popular but unimportant components.

Rodney made a list of possible names under which Janus’s automatons might have been classified and sold, not just for him but for the others. When Evan returned, Rodney set the list between them and had Evan start searching the books he’d brought.

It was dinner time when the others returned, drifting back to the lab, some with books in tow.

Rodney told Evan to fetch food and then duplicate the list of search terms for the others.

“Are you sure that Janus’s automatons even existed?” Kavanagh asked.

“Unless you think you can be as genius as Janus in a fraction of the time, you’d better hope they’re real,” Rodney said.

John, Teyla, and Ronon tugged some of the smaller work tables together to form a dining table. Radek and Miko fetched some stools for everyone to sit.

“What have you found?” Rodney asked.

Radek went to check the newest message when another pigeon arrived.

“Maybe we need to consult an automaton engineer,” John said.

“Perhaps,” Rodney said slowly. Who did he know who specialized in automaton fabrication?

Kate Heightmeyer. She had always been obsessed with the fine line between automaton and human, was always looking for ways to build more and more human-like automatons. She’d be utterly taken by Evan.

Before Rodney could call Radek over to see about him sending her a message with one of the pigeons, the door opened, and Elizabeth and Sheppard spilled into the workshop.

Elizabeth swept her hat off, eyes alight.

“The test fire. How did it go?”

“It didn’t,” Rodney said flatly.

Sheppard came up short. “John? What are you doing here?”

John froze in his seat for a moment, but then he deliberately leaned back against the table, posture insouciant. “I’m part of the team, aren’t I?”

Sheppard cast Rodney a look. “What is he doing here?”

“Captain John Monroe. He’s to pilot the _Atlantis,_ should she ever take to the sky.”

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “Is that what he told you?”

“Captain Monroe is more than a competent pilot,” Rodney said shortly. “I’ve seen him fly.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean, ‘it didn’t’?”

“I know he’s a fine pilot,” Sheppard said, and his expression was almost - hurt. “He told you his name was John Monroe?”

Rodney cast John a look. “Is that not your name?”

John shrugged. “Our father said no son of his, no true Sheppard Man, would abandon the family business and take up with the armed forces. I use our mother’s name. I have since the day I left.”

 _“Pardon?”_ Rodney raised his eyebrows.

Elizabeth’s expression went carefully blank. She’d known all along.

“John is my elder brother,” Sheppard said.

Radek swore in his native tongue.

Rodney turned to Evan. “Did _you_ know?”

Evan nodded.

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Rodney demanded.

Evan said, “Master Sheppard asked me not to.”

John flinched at the name. Teyla put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Dave, that’s not what’s important right now,” Elizabeth said with the careful, measured tones of a professional diplomat and politician. “What matters is the _Atlantis._ Dr. McKay, you say she won’t fly?”

“Not right now. We’re missing a key component that we didn’t even realize we’d need. Our best chance is to find one, because fabricating one would take more time than we can afford.” Rodney flicked his glance at Teyla so Elizabeth understood his meaning.

“What kind of component?” Elizabeth asked.

“One Janus designed and made,” Rodney said.

Elizabeth glanced at Sheppard.

He nodded. “How can we help?”

*

The best way to cover ground was to split up. Unfortunately, neither Ronon nor Teyla - nor really John - had the technical knowledge to identify the level of technology Rodney required. For that reason, Teyla had been paired with Miko, Ronon with Radek, and John with Kavanagh. Teyla and Miko were tackling the National Archives at the Guild of Arts and Sciences. Ronon and Radek had been granted access to the records at Sheppard Industries, mainly at the principal manufacturing laboratory close to Meredith Labs. John and Kavanagh were searching bookshops one at a time. Elizabeth and Dave Sheppard were searching the Sheppard family’s private archives.

Rodney was going over his own copies of Janus’s written works in the privacy of his lab, and it was left to Evan to coordinate with Samantha Carter and the people at her lab, so Evan was constantly leaving Rodney’s side to deal with incoming and outgoing pigeons.

Twice a day John, Ronon, Teyla, and Elizabeth would return to the lab to coordinate with Rodney and Evan on what leads they might have turned up, how their own searches were going, so they could in turn coordinate with Samantha and the research teams at her lab.

After three days, Rodney had had barely any sleep, words seemed to swim in front of his eyes, and no one was any closer to finding the piece they needed.

Long after everyone else was gone, Rodney sat at his desk, lamp burning bright, poring over a half-legible shipping manifest from half a century ago that had some of his keywords listed on it. A shipment of assorted automatons to a cotton mill. The automatons who strung the machines needed to be incredibly dexterous. An automaton made by Janus - or even a close derivative of his design - would have been useful there.

A hand on Rodney’s shoulder startled him.

“Dr. McKay,” Evan said. “You should rest.”

Rodney blinked up at him. “No. Fetch me more coffee.”

“Rodney,” Evan said, more firmly, shaking him a little.

For one moment, Rodney was surprised by Evan’s use of his given name, because he was usually very formal and polite - distant - with everyone.

Evan knelt so he was looking right into Rodney’s eyes. “No. You cannot keep this up any longer. You must sleep.”

“You don’t understand. The _Atlantis_ must fly. People’s lives depend on it -”

Evan leaned in and kissed him.

He curled his hand along Rodney’s jaw, and the press of his lips was cool and soft, gentle. Rodney had never been kissed so gently before.

Then he wrenched himself backward. “No. Evan. This is madness. What are you _doing?”_

“I was kissing you,” Evan said, as unflappably calm as ever. Only was there hurt in his gaze?

No. Impossible. That was Rodney’s imagination.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “Because I wanted to.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because you are handsome and a genius - and I wanted to know what it felt like, kissing you.” Evan shrugged, sat back on his haunches. He still looked perfectly calm, but there was something shuttered in his gaze.

“But how can you _want_ to know what it feels like to kiss someone? You’re a machine.”

“How does anyone want to know what it feels like to kiss someone?”

“Well, most sexual desire comes from the basic human urge to procreate,” Rodney said, not that procreation really applied to him, given that he preferred men.

“Not all desire to kiss comes from the urge to procreate, does it?” Evan reached out again, stroked Rodney’s jaw gently. “Sometimes you wish to provide affection or comfort.”

Rodney had been with men before, rough, furtive tumbles that were about mutual pleasure and little else. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” he said stiffly. He started to pull away.

Evan said, “I know you watch me.”

Rodney felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Watch you when?”

“When I’m up on the silks.”

Rodney looked away. “You took your aerialist training well.”

Evan said, “Do you want to lie with me?”

Rodney’s cheeks burned. “You’re a machine!”

“I can feel physical pain, but I cannot feel physical pleasure. I can feel - emotional pleasure.” Evan curled a tentative hand around Rodney’s wrist.

“You aren’t human.”

“I’m a person.” Evan’s hand on Rodney’s skin was sending tingles up and down Rodney’s spine.

“Evan -”

“You didn’t actually say no.”

Evan’s capacity for logic was quite unfair.

Evan released Rodney’s wrist, withdrew. “Even if you don’t wish to kiss me or lie with me, you should sleep. I won’t fetch you any more coffee.”

Rodney reached out, caught Evan’s hand in his.

Evan, who’d started to rise, paused, looked at him.

Rodney kissed him.

Evan kissed him back.

Rodney surged forward, pressing himself against Evan’s firm chest, deepened the kiss.

Evan surrendered, let Rodney delve in and taste.

No. This was wrong. Rodney shouldn’t have been so aroused by a creature who was really metal and steam. Only Evan’s lips were soft and his tongue quick and flexible, and his skin smooth.

Then Evan scooped Rodney up in his arms in a staggering display of strength - inhuman strength. Evan carried Rodney across the lab, never breaking their embrace, and lowered Rodney carefully to his pallet.

Rodney moaned when Evan pressed in between Rodney’s thighs, hard and surprisingly hot. Rodney was fully aroused, his trousers unbearably tight. He knew Evan wouldn’t be the same way, however anatomically correct he appeared - but Evan reached between them, cupped a hand around Rodney’s hard, hot length and stroked.

“Wait,” Rodney said. “No. We can’t.”

Evan paused, drew his hand away. “If you don’t wish to -”

“We shouldn’t. Not - not yet.” Not till Rodney was sure this was something Evan actually wanted, something he was even capable of wanting, and not just because Evan had been programmed to be Rodney’s _personal assistant._

Evan nodded. “I would never force you.”

Rodney nodded back. “I know.” Evan could, if he wanted. He was ten times as strong as Rodney.

Evan rolled off of Rodney, drew the blankets and duvet up over him. “You should sleep.”

Rodney knew it would take a long time for him to fall asleep, because his heart was pounding and he was still incredibly aroused.

Evan started to rise.

But Rodney reached out, put a hand on his shoulder. “I will sleep. But stay with me?”

Evan’s expression softened. “Always.”

Rodney closed his eyes and lay back, felt Evan settle in beside him.

Rodney’s entire world had been turned upside down. But he was exhausted and desperate and Evan was constant, Evan was safe, and Evan was there.

So Rodney slept.

*

Obviously Rodney had lost his mind. He and Evan were up and clean and dressed at the same time as always the next morning, prepared to continue the hunt for one of Janus’s legendary automatons. Everyone else - including Elizabeth and Dave Sheppard - arrived soon after breakfast. They made their search plans for the day, and then the others departed, each pair with a couple of pigeons with them, one to check in with Rodney, another to check in with Samantha Carter’s lab.

As soon as they were gone, Rodney should have delved back into his books. Instead he crowded Evan up against a workbench and kissed him till he ran out of breath.

When they parted so Rodney could get some air, Evan’s eyes were shining, and he looked delighted.

“Does this mean we get to keep kissing?”

The answer was yes.

Whenever Rodney was bored, or couldn’t stand looking at another piece of Janus’s handwriting for a second more, they kissed.

They were interrupted by messenger pigeons, by messenger children, by a girl from the bakery wondering where Evan was as he hadn’t come to fetch Dr. McKay’s mid-morning coffee and cakes.

But they kissed long and slow and luxurious, or fast and messy and desperate, or short and sweet and simple, comfort instead of passion. Rodney kissed Evan more in one day than he had perhaps kissed anyone else in the past several years. And it felt wonderful.

Evan felt alive in his embrace. He was right. Human he may not have been, person he certainly was.

They were interrupted by the arrival of yet another pigeon.

Evan pulled back, reluctantly.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “The bird can wait.”

“It’s a message from Carter Labs,” Evan said. “The seal on the message is gold. Someone must have found something important.”

He disentangled himself from Rodney’s embrace and crossed the workshop. He always handled the pigeons gently, was the best at dealing with them after Radek and Miko. He scooped the pigeon up, fed it a handful of bird seed as a reward and a distraction while he unfastened the message from the pigeon’s foot.

He broke the seal, scanned it, and immediately returned to Rodney’s side.

“Here.”

Daniel Jackson’s handwriting was cramped and spidery, but then he’d been raised like a nomad by his historian parents, had spoken three languages before he was six, none of them English.

It took Rodney a moment to really understand what Daniel had written, and then the mystery of dashes and spikes and curves resolved itself into words.

_Found it. Serial number P3X-403._

After a certain date, all commercially-sold automatons had been issued serial numbers, to track them for liability purposes, so an automaton’s provenance and repair history could be ascertained in case of accident, injury, or other malfunction. Apparently one of Janus’s automatons had survived to the era of serial numbers, and Daniel had found it.

“Shall I send pigeons to the others?” Evan asked.

Rodney couldn’t believe his eyes. Six letters and numbers were all that stood between him and success. All that stood between Teyla and her home on the Moon.

“Send us pigeons why?” Radek asked, stepping into the workshop.

Rodney turned to him. “Why are you here?”

“For the dinner-time check-in,” Radek said. Miko, John, Teyla, Ronon, Elizabeth, and Kavanagh followed him.

Rodney went to fumble for his pocket watch, but Evan said, “It’s three minutes past noon. I’ll go fetch food.”

“No,” Rodney said. “Get food to go, things people can carry, pasties and the like. We’re incredibly close now - and I’m sure Carter’s people are on it.”

“On what, Rodney?”

And there was Dr. Samantha Carter herself, beautiful and blonde and also rather dashing in trousers and a frock coat, a saber at her hip.

“Daniel found the serial number for the automaton we’re looking for.”

Samantha, standing in the doorway with Elizabeth and Teyla, smiled. “Yes. We are on that. But we all need to take a break, and we all need sustenance.”

Evan said, “I’ll go get food,” and he ducked away before Rodney could protest.

They reformed their informal dining table out of work tables and stools, making sure there was enough room for everyone. Samantha sat beside Rodney.

“Daniel let all of us know as soon as he found the serial number,” she said. “Mitchell and Vala are out pounding the pavement as we speak, and Teal’c is reaching out to some of his contacts as well. Jack is helping with some military connections of his, because such an advanced model would be of interest to the military.”

Rodney nodded. “Of course.” Why hadn’t he thought of that, or John?

Because he was exhausted and also a bit dizzy with the fact that he could now kiss Evan more or less whenever he wanted.

“Where did Daniel Jackson find the answer?” Radek asked.

“Where else, but a museum?” Samantha smiled.

“Of course,” Rodney said. He’d often found the man’s dedication to historical minutiae tiresome, but his attention to detail was impressive, and in this case it was quite fortuitous.

“Not anywhere the public could access, of course,” Samantha said. “He had a former colleague, one Sarah Gardner, who let him access the museum’s private collection of Janus’s works. The automaton in question was, along with four other models, sold into private ownership. Tracking it from there will be difficult.”

“But there are plenty of us and we are brilliant,” Rodney said.

“Still as modest as ever.” Samantha cast Teyla a look, and Teyla smiled patiently.

Evan returned with food, and Ronon and John helped him lay it out on the tables. Now that Rodney knew John was in fact Dave Sheppard’s older the brother, the true heir to the Sheppard fortune and estates, watching him perform so base and domestic a chore seemed quite odd, but then he’d probably had to fend for many of his own base needs while he was out on military campaigns, officer as he’d once been.

“What’s the plan now?” Miko asked.

“I think it would be better for everyone to split up, search individually,” Rodney said. “Evan and I will stay here and coordinate the pigeons, but now that we have that serial number, we know exactly what we’re looking for.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “Business records are going to be the most useful, and also any legal records available to the public, such as whether the automaton was sold as an asset at an estate sale or a business foreclosure.”

“Old newspaper archives as well,” Miko suggested. “If someone ever advertised the automaton for sale that way.”

“Also science journals, in case the automaton was ever donated to science for research purposes,” Radek said. He frowned. “I hope it was never disassembled.”

“Only a moron would disassemble one of Janus’s automatons,” Rodney said.

“Assuming someone recognized it for what it was,” Kavanagh said.

The others turned to look at him.

He shrugged. “No one knows what it looks like.”

“Hopefully we shall find that out as well,” Teyla said.

“If you do find it, it will be one of the most important historical and scientific finds in almost a century,” Samantha said.

“Of course, I will share credit for the discovery with all of you,” Rodney said, after he deciphered her pointed look.

Evan drifted quietly around them, refilling cups with watered-down wine.

Elizabeth knew the names of some important law offices that often represented the types of industrial entities who dealt in automatons in bulk; she and Teyla would search those. Kavanagh knew the names of several automaton engineering publications. Since those were on publishers’ row near the newspapers, he’d handle the newspapers as well. John, along with Jack, was going to see about researching some of the military archives. Daniel, of course, was going to continue working his museum and private archive contacts. Vala was checking antique and collector shops, while Mitchell was checking with local repair shops where specialty automatons were either repaired or salvaged and re-sold. Miko and Radek would be tackling some local trade offices and customs houses to see if such an automaton had ever been sold for export. Teal’c and Ronon would be checking with some embassies where they had connections, in the off chance that such a special automaton had been traded for treaty purposes to another planet or moon.

“All right,” Elizabeth said. “It’s a plan.”

Once they were finished eating, they all helped clean up, and then everyone split up, each with a messenger pigeon so the moment they had anything truly useful they could inform Rodney. Otherwise, everyone had been provided with enough money to send several messenger children with messages for periodic check-ins.

Dave Sheppard, Elizabeth said, would continue to check the Sheppard archives, and also check with some of his business associates and other associates in the peerage. The hunt was on.

“We’ll keep you posted,” Radek said, and he was the last one out the door, closed it firmly after him.

Like that, Rodney and Evan were alone.

Evan moved closer to Rodney, reached out, and drew him into a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, soft and comforting.

“Is it madness to say that I missed you?” Rodney asked once they parted.

Evan smoothed his thumb along the line of Rodney’s jaw, along the sensitive skin at his throat. “No. We were both in the same room, but we were separated. And I know that dealing with so many people at once can be tiring, for you. Do you need to rest?”

For the first time in Rodney didn’t know how long, he didn’t have anything specific he had to do. Yes, he had to respond to check-ins, but right that second, he could do what he wanted. He gazed into Evan’s blue, blue eyes, which were wide and dark with passion, and he said,

“No, I don’t need rest, but you should take me to bed anyway.”

Rodney almost expected Evan to pick him up again, but instead Evan reached down, caught Rodney’s hand in his, and headed for the lab. Rodney let himself be towed along, only Evan didn’t immediately push him down onto the pallet and climb on top of him and start to undress him.

Instead he paused beside the pallet and said, “Stay here,” and then he headed further into the back, to the nooks and crannies behind the supply boxes where John often looked.

Rodney heard him shuffling things around, and his heart pounded.

He was engaging in madness. Even if Evan _looked_ like a human, he wasn’t an actual human, and he couldn’t engage in the acts of love beyond kissing. Could he?

And would he really understand what he was doing with Rodney? After all, for him kissing was comfort.

Unless Evan had been designed to be so human-like because he was some sort of...pleasure slave?

Rodney’s lust started to subsume itself in panic, and then Evan returned, carrying another mattress and some soft, light blankets. He arranged the pallet so it would be more comfortable for Rodney, and then he turned to Rodney, smiled.

Was that the inviting smile of a lover or the mindless smile of an automaton just following its programming?

Evan’s smile dimmed, and he reached out, drew Rodney close again.

“Don’t think so much,” Evan said, softly. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of Rodney’s mouth. “I know you’re brilliant, but don’t think your way out of something that will be wonderful.”

“Will it?” Rodney asked. “You can’t feel pleasure, only pain. You don’t really understand what this act means -”

“Not on a personal level, no. But I know what it means for you.” Evan closed a hand around Rodney’s wrist, squeezed gently. “I care for you. I have for a long time. I want to make you feel good, and that will make me feel good. Maybe not in the same way, but - it will.”

Rodney swallowed hard. “How do I know this isn’t just your programming?”

“Rodney,” Evan whispered, leaning in, his lips brushing against Rodney’s, “we are all our programming - our thoughts, our desires, our actions and reactions. We receive input, we process, we deliver output. Your programming is biological, mine is mechanical. But we are both people.”

Rodney’s breath hitched when Evan slid a hand between his legs, stroked his hardening cock through his trousers.

“Input,” Evan breathed, stroking down, “and output.” He stroked up.

Rodney’s eyes fluttered closed. “Take me,” he begged. He opened his eyes, arching into Evan’s firm, warm touch. “Can you take me?”

Evan slid his hand further between Rodney’s legs, pressed at the delicate space behind Rodney’s bollocks. “I can.”

Rodney scrabbled at the buttons on Evan’s waistcoat, at the knot of his cravat. “Off. Take it all off.”

Evan laughed softly, ducked his head so Rodney could reach his cravat better. He snaked his hands between them, working the buttons on Rodney’s waistcoat himself.

Rodney loosed the knot on Evan’s cravat and tugged, reeled Evan in for a messy kiss, all open mouths and twining tongues. He curled his hand at the nape of Evan’s neck, petting his soft hair.

And he felt something odd.

A scar? A maker’s mark? Maybe an owner’s mark, since he belonged to the Sheppard family?

Rodney pulled back for a moment, spun Evan around.

Evan continued to divest himself of his own clothes, hands swift and sure. When Rodney touched the back of his neck, he bowed his head obediently.

Rodney leaned in, curious. The line of Evan’s shoulders was powerful, the sweep of his back broad and strong. Was the key to what made Evan so human-like there at the back of his neck?

Rodney smoothed a thumb over the soft, short hairs at the nape of Evan’s neck, and he saw -

Evan’s serial number.

P3X-403.

His heart stopped.

“Rodney?” Evan asked. “Do you want me to -?”

Rodney spun Evan back around to face him, Evan who was completely nude but for his shirtsleeves, shirttails coyly covering his groin.

Rodney gazed into Evan’s blue, blue eyes.

“I want you to take me,” he said, and he finished shedding his clothes. He caught Evan’s wrist and lowered himself to the pallet, drew Evan down with him.

Evan lay beside him, half draped on top of him, kissing him and stroking his skin, his hair, hands warm and gentle but sure and strong.

Rodney closed his eyes tightly when Evan licked his way into Rodney’s mouth, reaching between his legs with one of those sure, strong hands, and didn’t dare say what he now knew, when it was too late.

_I love you._

*

They made love fast and frantic, then sweet and slow. The entire time, Rodney clung to Evan, doing his best to memorize every motion, every expression, every sound and scent and sensation, because he was afraid - he _knew,_ in his damnably genius mind - that this would be the first and last time.

After, they lay curled together on the pallet, Evan wrapped around him protectively. Though they were of a height, Evan was tucked under Rodney’s chin, listening to his heart.

“It sounds beautiful. So alive.”

“I’m sure yours does too.”

Evan smiled up at him. “Do you want to listen?”

Rodney kissed that brilliant smile. “I’m sure I’ll hear it sometime.”

*

Rodney was grateful for Evan’s superhuman speed and reflexes. He was on his feet and dressed in a flash when the first messenger - a young girl dressed like a young boy - poked her head into the workshop, hollered about a message for Dr. McKay from Dr. Zee.

Evan greeted the girl, Cleo, fondly, gave her some coin for her trouble, and carried the written note back to the lab where Rodney, pleasantly sated and spent, was barely pulling on his drawers.

By the time the second messenger arrived, Rodney was mostly dressed and upright, sitting at his workbench in the lab.

So far no one had found anything, but they were getting closer, or so they thought.

It was cruel to leave them out there slaving away when Rodney already held the answer to all their problems in the palm of his hand.

Rodney was properly dressed and enjoying some coffee and pastries when the next messenger arrived. Out of guilt, he had the child wait while he penned a reply, instructing Miko to look specifically for humanoid robots that were finished to resemble human males, and he gave the child a piece of pastry in addition to coin payment.

She tipped her cap at him before she dashed back out into the street.

It was Kavanagh who sent a pigeon.

He’d found an old transaction involving the sale of one of Janus’s automatons, and as part of the transaction, the seller had included detailed schematics of the rare model. Kavanagh had enclosed copies of the schematics.

Whoever had drawn them - from firsthand knowledge of the automaton’s inner workings? - had not been an automaton engineer or scientist themselves, because the diagrams were riddled with inconsistencies and impossibilities that a true scientist would have spotted immediately but that a lay draftsman would have thought made perfect sense.

“Shall I send him a reply?” Evan asked, pigeon perched on his wrist.

Rodney paged through the schematics, looking at the impressive steel frame, the perfectly articulated joints - just like human joints - and the very detailed gears and connections.

“Tell Kavanagh he’s done enough for the day, that he can go home.”

Evan frowned. “But he hasn’t found the present location of the automaton.”

“He’s done enough,” Rodney said again.

Evan nodded. “All right.” And he bent over the work table to pen a reply.

“In fact,” Rodney said, “tell all the others to take a break. We have some good leads.”

“Are you sure?”

Rodney nodded. “I am. These schematics are very useful. I’ll have to look them over in more detail, but - I might be able to fabricate the piece I need after all.”

None of the schematics showed what the finished model looked like, just the inner workings. Including the heart, a beautiful filigree four-chambered thing that pumped steam throughout the entire body at massive volume and pressure, a volume and pressure that should have been impossible for a pump of that size.

“Maybe a rest will do them good,” Evan said. “We can all start fresh tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Rodney said faintly. “Tomorrow. You send those messages. I’ll get started on this.”

Evan pressed a kiss to Rodney’s cheek, then strode back out to the workshop, cooing at the pigeons to catch their attention.

Rodney reached for his goggles and his soldering iron. He had to make this work.

*

Once Evan had sent messages out to everyone on the search team, he went and fetched supper for Rodney, and then he took over sketching out a larger version of the diagram of the P3X-403’s heart. Of course Evan had a perfectly steady hand, recreated the drawing - well, like a machine would.

While Rodney ate, he studied the rest of the diagrams. They weren’t the most helpful, but between his own study of Janus’s work and the detail - if inaccuracies - of the diagrams he was confident in his ability (nay, his genius) to be able to make one of the hearts. No, it probably wouldn’t have the lovely filigree cover, but it would do what Rodney needed it to.

“Here,” Evan said, sliding the finished diagram across the workbench so it was within Rodney’s reach. He pushed his sleeves up. “How can I help you?”

“I’ve got this,” Rodney said. “I’m excited for the challenge. I don’t really have a plan, and I’ll work faster if I don’t have to try to explain myself to someone else. You should go enjoy yourself. Put on some music. Fly on your silks.”

Evan smiled softly, nodded, pressed a kiss to Rodney’s cheek, and drifted out to the main workshop. A moment later, Rodney heard the heavy brass notes that were the opening to Sibelius’s _Finlandia._

Rodney itched to go and watch him strip down, watch him ascend into the air, but he had to do this, had to make this work. This tiny heart-shaped device was enough to power an automaton for a lifetime - if not many lifetimes. With naquadah instead of coal as the initial source, the _Atlantis_ would be able to take flight seemingly instantly, would be able to fly faster and longer than even most the most imaginative pilots could dream.

Having music in the background while he worked was actually quite peaceful.

Rodney cracked his knuckles, loosened his wrists, and set to building. He nearly burned his fingertips with his soldering iron more than once, but he had the first atrium nearly complete after a couple of hours.

Evan had long moved on from Sibelius. He was on to Tchaikovsky’s _Sleeping Beauty._ He enjoyed Tchaikovsky’s ballets often. Was it because the best performances were by fleets of ballerina automatons, designed and articulated and programmed for unparalleled grace and beauty and strength? They could dance _en pointe_ forever, never wavering.

Rodney needed to let a couple of pieces cool, so he stood up, stretched, and then wandered over to the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe and watched Evan.

Evan was climbing toward the ceiling, a series of poses interspersed with winding and unwinding himself from the silks. How did he know which points in the music to emphasize with an extension versus a pose versus one of those breathtaking spinning drops? Rodney understood music, how to perform music itself, but he’d never figured out how a performer breathed additional life into music by dancing to it.

But in Evan, the music was alive, the sweeping romantic waltz writ into every line of his body. The silks were his partners, his lovers, embracing him and entwining him, lifting him and carrying him.

Rodney could watch him forever.

The workshop door opened, and Rodney straightened up, startled.  

Dave Sheppard and John stepped into the workshop.

Rodney checked his pocket watch. It was past nine. “Mr. Sheppard,” he began, but both men stopped short, looked up.

They wore matching wistful expressions, and in that moment, Rodney could see how they were brothers.

“I wondered if he could still do that,” John said softly.

It was Sheppard who said, “He can still do everything he’s ever learned.”

“Mother always loved it best when he flew.”

Both men watched till the song finished, and then Sheppard cleared his throat loudly.

“Evan,” he said, “come down from there.”

Evan drifted down the silks with the inexorable gravity but lightness of a falling leaf, landed on his feet and sketched a deep, graceful bow. Then he straightened up.

“Master Sheppard.”

Sheppard beckoned.

Evan approached.

Sheppard made a twirling gesture, and Evan turned around. Presented his back to Sheppard.

Rodney’s throat closed. They knew.

“There it is,” Sheppard said.

John leaned in to look. “You’re right. The answer was under our noses all along.”

“Answer?” Evan asked.

“Evan,” Sheppard said, almost gently, “what’s your serial number?”

“I was created before there were serial numbers,” Evan said. “Master Janus always called me _Evanescere.”_

Master Janus.

“Could you have been given a serial number without your knowledge?” John asked.

“Perhaps, if I was marked when I was powered down, if I was marked where I could not see myself.” Evan held perfectly still, like a placid child.

“Have you never noticed the mark on the back of your neck?” Sheppard asked.

Evan caught Rodney’s gaze. “I know it’s there. I am old. I am no longer flawless. I never thought to investigate it further.” He twisted around to look at John and Sheppard. “I can only presume that the mark on the back of my neck is my serial number, and it’s the serial number everyone has been looking for all day.”

“Yes,” John said.

Evan turned to look at Rodney again. “I suppose there’s only one thing to be done.”

Rodney said, “I’ve started construction on our own version of the heart from diagrams Kavanagh sent me.”

“You said those diagrams were inaccurate and unhelpful,” Evan said quietly.

John and Sheppard looked at Rodney.

Evan turned to them. “Dr. McKay and I need to speak privately.”

John and Sheppard looked at each other, then nodded.

Sheppard tipped his hat at Rodney, and then he and John departed.

The door closed behind them, echoing through the now-silent workshop.

“You knew,” Evan said.

Rodney said nothing.

“Earlier today, you knew.” Evan crossed the workshop floor, stood in front of Rodney. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you that I have to cut your heart out so I can make the _Atlantis_ fly?” Rodney’s throat was tight. He huffed in dark amusement and shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me that I could help you achieve your dream, help Teyla return to her people before the worst happens to her family?” Evan’s voice was gentle, chiding.

Rodney looked at him. “You know what’s going on with Teyla’s people?”

Evan nodded.

“But - Elizabeth told me not to tell anyone. I didn’t.”

Evan reached out, placed his hand on Rodney’s shoulder. “You’re one of the few people in this world who counts me among _anyone.”_

Rodney wrenched himself away. “That doesn’t make me feel better. That makes me feel a thousand times worse.”

“You’re a scientist. You know what must be done.”

“I’m also a man, and what must be done is me killing the man I -” Rodney cut himself off. He couldn’t say it.

Evan stepped closer. “Then take me with you. Take my heart with you.”

“You’re more than your heart, than your machinery.” Rodney couldn’t look at him.

“None of us are,” Evan whispered. He curled a hand around Rodney’s wrist, tugged Rodney’s hand close, placed it on his smooth, warm chest. Over his clockwork heart.

Rodney trembled. “Evan, please, don’t -”

Evan squeezed Rodney’s hand tighter, pressed it harder to his chest, and there was an unnatural click and shift, and then Rodney could hear the familiar whirring of gears, the soft hiss of steam.

He looked down and saw a panel had opened on Evan’s chest to reveal his beautiful, beautiful heart. It was a perfect symphony of moving pieces, glowing faint cerulean, the legendary color of all of Janus’s most powerful creations. It was small enough for Rodney to hold in both hands.

“Take it,” Evan said. “It’s yours.” He drew Rodney in for a kiss.

Rodney closed his eyes and kissed him - and reached inside.

*

“Rodney?” Teyla asked.

He came awake slowly, groggy. He’d fallen asleep slumped over his workbench. He pushed himself upright, scrubbed a hand over his face, peered at her. “What’s going on?”

“Everyone is here, awaiting instruction,” she said.

“Instruction?” Rodney stumbled to his feet, followed her over to the door.

Everyone - except Dave Sheppard - was arrayed in front of the _Atlantis’s_ prow.

“For the search,” Teyla said. “You worked all night? Have you had breakfast? Where is Evan?”

Rodney’s chest tightened, and he had to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat. “The search is over.” He handed her the brass engine key. “Fire her up.”

Teyla’s eyes went wide. “Pardon?”

“She’s ready to fly.”

“But - I thought you needed -”

“We found it,” Rodney said. “John and Sheppard and I. Late last night. I got it installed.”

Teyla stared at the brass key. “You worked all night. You have worked many late nights. Thank you -”

Rodney shook his head. “Go. Fire it up.”

Teyla nodded, started toward one of the ladders that ran down the side. She paused, turned. “Where is Evan?”

Rodney said, “He’s sleeping.”

*

Fog rolled up over the banks of the Thames, across the multicolored tops of river barges, of the stone quays and wooden gangplanks, over the prone forms of London’s underbelly asleep in the edges of the dawn.  The slosh of dirty water against the sides of its man-reinforced channel was white noise, common, and the chug of a single steamer leading a grand liner up the river was easily dismissed. But the hiss and clank of an ether engine made more than one eye open, and London’s underbelly awoke to see ether wings unfurled, iridescent above the rolling fog, as the _Atlantis_ began her maiden voyage.

It took to the sky with a whisper of ether sails and a shuddering of steam.

Rodney stood on the deck, watching as the city shrank beneath him, turning from massive warehouses and hotels and palaces to tiny doll versions of the same to objects no larger than his thumbnail.

John was at the wheel, goggles in place, scarf whipping around his neck.

Teyla and Ronon stood on either side of him in long leather coats, weapons at the ready, alert for danger.

Kavanagh was in the engine room, keeping an eye on things, but Miko and Radek were peeking over the side of the deck, eyes wide as the ship rose toward the clouds.

Elizabeth stood at the prow, gazing into the distance, no doubt thinking about what lie ahead.

A bell rang, signaling the raising of the shields so they would all be able to survive the changes in atmosphere and pressure as the ship entered the clouds, and everyone stepped well clear of the railings as a dome of ether sprang up around them. It shimmered faintly blue, like the sails, and then they were swallowed in endless white.

Miko and Radek cheered, popped open a bottle of champagne as the _Atlantis_ broke the cloud cover, and now it was all blue skies as the ship started on its course toward the Moon. Elizabeth, Ronon, and Teyla shared in the champagne, though John did not, because he needed to be alert.

The ship’s crew were men John trusted from his years of service - Ford, Markham, Stackhouse, Bates - and they crowded around for even a sip of champagne.

Rodney closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

He started for the trapdoor that led to the lower decks and the engine room.

Teyla found him.

“Rodney, would you like some champagne?”

“No, thank you.” He wanted a clear head. “I’m about to relieve Kavanagh anyway. He can have my share.”

Teyla put a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?” she kept her voice low.

“I’m fine.”

“You did not need to come with us. The dangers among the stars, like the Wraith - they are best suited to the battle-ready.”

Miko, Radek, Kavanagh, and Elizabeth had no battle experience. Rodney knew what she really meant.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said, “but Evan gave his heart to me, and I’m going to look after it.” And study it and build a new one and maybe even a better one so when he got back to Earth he could revive Evan and they could have a life together.

Teyla nodded. “Thank you, for all that you sacrificed.”

“It was Evan,” Rodney said. “He gave up the most.”

“No,” Teyla said softly. “I don’t think he did.”

But she stepped back, drifted toward the others, and Rodney climbed down to the engine room. Kavanagh, sweaty and stained with soot, looked startled to see him.

“We passed the clouds. There’s champagne. Go.”

Kavanagh didn’t need to be told twice, scrambled up the ladder.

Rodney sank down into the little engineer’s chair beside the coal stove and leaned against the central pillar, the heart of the _Atlantis,_ Evan’s heart.

“Hello,” he said softly. “I’m here. You’re finally flying.”

**Author's Note:**

> So much gratitude to the phenomenal SherlockianSyndromes, who helped me make this story better than it was, and helped me be a better writer too.
> 
> Title from the e.e. cummings poem Buffalo Bill.
> 
> Evan's aerialist stylings inspired by Garret Caillouet, Brandon Scott, and Iram Ramirez.


End file.
